


The Phone Booth

by Darkestsiren



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Au of a fic, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Please Don't Hate Me, Poisoning, Vampires, and no class, because i have no chill, fic of a fic, honestly i'm running my mouth off, i don't know what, victor is a dectective, yuuri is... something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 15:20:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14381427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkestsiren/pseuds/Darkestsiren
Summary: Victor has been poisoned and is in a phone booth in an alley behind a speakeasy, probably dying. The year is 1929.......Forgive me for this pointless piece of my obsessive disorder...I've been reading 'But Monsters Are Always Hungry, Darling' by iruuctiv and Orchids_and_Fictional_Cities, which is awesome and amazing and everyone should go read it! So... this happened. It takes place at the end of chapter 7, which is not the end of the story but is the latest chapter.This takes a few liberties with Victor and Yuuri's relationship and also adds a fantasy element that is not part of the original fic. sorry not sorry.





	The Phone Booth

Victor POV, 2nd person

 

Darkness, in all its silent, soft perfection, rests, settling over you like the gentle hand of a lover, a touch so subtle, so unrelenting, that it takes you under almost without notice. You yield to its promise effortlessly, like falling, a slow intake of breath, a slower exhale. Shoulders lengthen, jaw falls loose, eyes slip shut. Oblivion moves through your senses, blinding each, one by one by one, until you want it; the easy release of sleep.

But this isn’t sleep. At least, this isn’t the kind of sleep that you will wake from, blinking into light, the vague feeling of something _else_ moving in your mind. This is the kind of sleep that takes you as its own. It is deep and velvet and sweet. It is eternal. It is destiny. It is youth, ever-blooming. It is thick and rich and warm; this sleep that is not sleep; that is not rest; that does not die. It is dreams and night and peace, it is blood and life. It is yearning and hunger. Hunger. So desperate and mindless you would be useless against its tide back. 

And so you fight, profitless though it might be. Your lips press together, your arms push you up, away. You force your dead muscles to contract, to pull and stretch, to stand, to walk. 

A voice calls out to you, its edge sharp in your ears, and you smile. The darkness begins to pull away, releasing your senses like fingers pried from a bottle, one by one by one. Sound, light, pain. You cherish them all, holding each glimmer close to your heart. You move toward the voice, that single siren’s call in the receding void.

Arms are around you, lifting you up, easing your weight into a new formation, a new balance, and you realize you’d never managed to wrest yourself from the ground at all.

There are words, formed close to your ear, breathy and urgent, but they are blurred, the edges too soft. You let them slip away, focus on the line of heat against your back, around your ribcage, cradling your cheek. There is movement, a wrenching twist in the very deepest part of you and then everything is falling. Falling up and over and through, to the ground and splashing on something hard. The sound of your own coughing stings in your ears and you are so tired. So fucking tired. Let me go, you think. I am lost. Lost to this darkness, to the darkness that pulls at your soul. 

But there is still heat on your back and there is fresh water at your lips. The voice is in your ear again, clearer now. It asks you questions. You have the answers but not the means to share them. They echo in your head instead, teasing. 

Yes, I know who did this. 

Yes, I drank, but unwillingly, and not much. 

Not enough. 

Yes, I still might turn. 

The voice comes again, sharp, angry. It is directed outward though and you think they feel like salvation. The arms around you tighten and you can’t stop your smile.

And then it is all movement and light and the garishness of surviving. Your companion reaches, hangs up the phone and then removes it again. He dials, speaks. Hangs up. You lean against something cold and think, perhaps, you are still on the ground. You feel light with spinning and certainty. He loves you, you think irrationally. It is better than breathing.

The arm slides away and returns. Two this time, one on each side, lifting. And standing is so much worse than it has ever been. What passes for walking is torture. Every bone and sinew touched by the darkness screams out in protest. 

Let me go. I am lost. 

A blaring sound then and many people surround him, jostling, asking, touching, moving. He is falling again and the blackness beckons. The voice, _his_ voice, tells him to go, that he is safe. That he won’t leave his side. 

You believe him. 

 

***

 

When you wake again it is like crawling up from the earth. You feel heavy, so heavy you think you might not be able to breach the surface. He is there when you do, your hand held fast to his lips. He is whispering, eyes clenched hard, the nervous rocking returned. Your heart clenches and you almost wish for the darkness again. Almost. 

“Yuuri.” It comes from your mouth as if pulled, cracked and unwilling. 

His head whips up, his eyes wide. He drops your hand and scoots away, almost falling out of his chair in his haste. 

You fight the chill of rejection. “You said you wouldn’t leave my side,” you remind him.

“I…” Yuuri trails off, eyes stuck on the carpet. 

“Hey,” you say, reaching. “I’m still me.” It’s true as you say it, the hunger has not come. 

Yuuri swallows, the fear doesn’t wane. “You drank.”

You close your eyes and force the memory to surface. It is more difficult than you would like. “Yes.” It is clear, painfully clear. The woman at the bar, a distraction. The odd taste in his drink, ignored, tossed back. The wave of nausea. The salt in the water Chris had given him; his saving grace. And the face in the alley, so familiar it hurt. “It was Otabek.” 

A hiss. Silence. You can’t look. 

Finally, “Was it the picture?”

“I think so.”

“Fucking Leo,” Yuuri spits. 

That smile, traitorous devil that it is, spreads over your face. 

“How much, Victor?” 

You sigh and dredge it up. “I drew on him, but… He sliced his wrist and pressed it to my face before I could get a shot off. I clamped my mouth shut and fired my whole clip. Still.”

“Still.” 

“It was only a drop, if that.” 

Yuuri frowns, looks away. Your heart speeds, the machines beside you going into hysterics. 

Yuuri is beside you in a breath. “Victor? Breathe! Calm down.” He takes your hand again and pulls it into his chest, smoothes the other over your forehead, down the side of your face. You want to pull him onto the bed and kiss him until the dawn comes. Until you’re sure. 

Your heart slows. Yuuri begins to pull away but you stop him, your hand twisting to hold onto him. Your eyes snap shut.

“Please.” It’s a whisper and you can’t find room in your chest to regret it. “Please, Yuuri.”

Stillness. Yuuri stares at you, you can feel it through your lids. And then, blessedly, the bed shifts, weight settles beside you, warm and solid and safe. Finally. 

When you can breathe again and your eyes at last flutter open he is looking at you. His face is hope and fear and softness. It is love. Without thought your lips meet his. They are plump and sweet and so, so perfect.

“Turn me,” he says against your lips. “If you turn. I don’t…” he shudders.

“I’m not going to turn, Yuuri.”

“Victor.”  
“I promise,” you tell him, because you can’t lose him. “Selfish, aren’t I?” you smile. 

“The selfish-est,” he agrees, and kisses you again. 

 

***

 

A throat clears and Yuuri backs off the bed so fast he almost falls. You glare at the doctor standing in the doorway, daring him to say something. He just smiles. 

“Your blood is free of the disease, Detective,” he says. “I’ve already signed your release papers but feel free to stay a bit longer if you want.” He winks, tosses a nod at Yuuri and leaves, closing the door firmly behind him.

Yuuri covers his face. His cheeks are burning. He’s breathtaking. 

“Come back,” you say into the stillness between you. 

Yuuri glances at the door. He comes back to the bed. Climbs up again. 

You smile and smile and smile. “I told you.”

“You’re not going to turn,” Yuuri says. His eyes are happy. 

“Marry me.” You blurt it out without thinking, without planning, but it’s the deepest wish in your heart. 

Yuuri stills, his happy eyes frozen. 

“This is not the first time I’ve wanted to ask you so don’t blame it on my recent trauma.”

“I wasn’t gong to.” Defensive. 

You smile, knowing he was. He smiles too, admitting. The moment fades and your question lingers, thick and heavy between you. 

“How?” Finally. 

“The Night Dweller’s Court.” You say it slowly, deliberate, and you can see the moment he realizes. 

“That’s why?” 

You know what he means. You’d known it was a risk. But it was worth it. Yuuri was worth anything. The Night Dwellers hadn’t liked your presence in their Court but they’d acquiesced to your bargain nonetheless. It was hard to refuse favors from local law enforcement when your nature forced you to act outside the law. Mistakes happened. Sometimes. 

Unfortunately, Leo had snapped a picture of you leaving the Court and apparently shown it to one Otabek Altin, vampire purist and self appointed defender of the Courts’ more oblique laws. Unbeknownst to the Court Elders he’d taken it upon himself to turn Victor into one of them, rather than let him run off to tell the ignorant humans masses about the rather large vampire population living in New York City. 

The only problem was that Victor had no intention of telling anyone the truth about his city, and he never would. If anyone appreciated the value of secrecy it was him.

“He won’t be a problem. The Court looks unkindly on their own attacking innocent humans.”

“You’re hardly innocent, Victor,” Yuuri reminds him. “You know more about the Court than any human ever has.”

You hear his fear. You put an arm around Yuuri, drawing him in close. “Which is precisely what will keep me alive.”

Yuuri relaxes against you, smiling knowingly. “You made a deal.” Not a question. 

You smile into Yuuri’s hair. “I made a deal.”

After a moment, “Yes.”

You go still, push Yuuri up to look into his face, measure. 

“Yes,” he repeats, smiling. 

You feel light, lighter than you have ever felt in your whole life. “Yes.”

When you leave the hospital that afternoon your lips are swollen and your heart is made of light. 

 


End file.
